The Legend of Dragoon: Dark Resurrection
by Derek Leach
Summary: Sydney Opeth, the Crimson Shadow, was on a quest to deliver a letter to an old childhood friend. When reunited, they (along with five other warriors) are faced with cataclysmic events unseen for nearly 200 years.(Please rate and review!) (Rated M for language, sexual content, violence, and suggestive themes.)
1. Chapter 1: Reunion

**The Legend of Dragoon: Black Resurrection**

Chapter 1

Sydney awoke to the sound of wooden wheels, a complex trod of multiple hooves, and silent grumbles from the other passengers echoing through the carriage. It took a moment for his vision to blur into focus; a dark space crowded with people all headed for the same place he was, Lohan. Many knew of it as a haven for merchants and such, a place outside of the political nonsense, a city where five words were law "an eye for an eye". These people were most likely looking for opportunity, a way to escape just like he was.

Hitting a bump in the road the carriage shook violently waking up the rest of the passengers. A frightened boy clutched his mother's clothes as she gently rocked a cooing infant in her arms. Further down the same row, a bearded man leaned over popping his neck, and situating his satchel set loosely between his feet. Another gentleman seemed to be going through what looked like jars full of some unknown peculiarities, _a merchant maybe_? Sydney lowered his head and closed his eyes trying once again to sleep.

He breathed deeply sinking lower into the elongated bench. The only comfort he could find was by leaning forward and resting his face in his hands. Tired enough to ignore the aching pain in his lower back, he let his thoughts trail off to the unknown. He began to snore to the sound of music as it always did. It's what he loved the most in his life, something that had a beautiful harmony to coexist with his deadly, intricately detailed, melody.

Once again the carriage shuttered, only this time the left side of the carriage crashed to the ground causing everyone to jump out of their seats. The boy gripped his mother even tighter as she desperately tried to calm down the, now crying, infant. The once silent carriage was now filled with awkward and confused voices. Disgruntled, Sydney opened his eyes and listened to the heavy and somewhat hastened footsteps of the driver as he approached the back entrance to the caravan

The driver opened the wooden carriage door, "I'm pretty sure ya'll understand that I gotta' replace the wheel, we could be stuck here for around twenty minutes. So if you feel like gettin' out and stretchin' your legs, feel free to do so."

Sydney's brown leather boots crunched against the dry desert surface as he walked to a nearby cliff. Everything was covered in dust; his black pants bloused snugly in his boots, his dark flowing trenchcoat, even his once red studded leather armor had faded to a dark shade of brown. He glimpsed at his gauntleted hands, then stared off the edge of the small cliff overlooking the desert below. Barely making out the city of Lohan he sighed and lit himself a cigarette, feeling the smoke caress his slightly tanned skin, drawing tangled circles around the long strands of his white-blonde hair. His dark brown eyes flirted with the abyss of the iris in which it surrounded.

_I wonder if she's in Lohan?_ Sydney pondered to himself. He once again caught a glimpse of the valley below, _All the rumors pointed to this place, this has gotta' be it. But…are you still mad at me? Will seeing me now, the way that I am, change her opinion of me. _He buried his face in his hands, _Yeah right. But despite what she says I gotta' make this right._

"_No! Why did you kill him_?"

"_I didn't mean to, I swear on Soa's grave I didn't mean to_."

Sydney awoke to the screams of a woman in a fit of panic, "Don't kill my children, take me, TAKE ME! I _BEG _YOU!" Shooting up he noticed the near end of a brutal massacre, the victims, the passengers. This scene was all too familiar to the rugged traveler, he had grown up with it. An orphan at the age of seven he watched his parents die before his eyes. War between nomadic tribes wasn't uncommon in the desert continent of Death Frontier. Since then he had studied and perfected the art of the blade to kill those who would dare abuse their power. Especially bandits attacking poor travelers for the thrills and a bit of pocket change.

The woman reluctantly handed over the infant to his older brother, and with tears in her eyes tried to reassure that everything would be fine. She wanted her son to run with his younger brother as fast as he could, maybe they could make it there had to be a chance. But either way, she didn't want her eldest son's mind stained with the foul images of what these men, these monsters would do to her. In the back of her mind she prayed, she prayed with everything to the creator that this would be quick and painless, that she wouldn't have to suffer, that her children would have a home, and they would be able to endure the hardships of growing up without her.

One of the six bandits grabbed the woman by the collar of her ragged clothes and tossed her against a rock wall. An evil smile creeped its way across his face revealing the intentions he had for her. This woman would die a whore. Dropping his sword he foolishly lunged at the woman, but what he didn't realize was that this was the moment Sydney had been waiting for. Withdrawing both swords he leapt off the edge of the cliff, slicing the bandit in two.

Both swords reflected beautifully in the hot sun. One was an ebony obsidian, while the other was as crimson as the blood flowing freely from the fallen bandit's corpse. Enraged, the other five men ran at the skilled fighter thinking of nothing but killing the man who had dealt death to one of their own. Impaling one of the bandits he swung the blade in his free hand decapitating another attacker. He ripped the ebony sword out of the bandits' sternum and flung it at another oncoming attacker impaling him through the throat. Within twenty seconds four of the six original bandits had died by his hand.

A mixture of awe and fear overcame the two bandits left standing, it had to have been a fluke. There was no way a man of that caliber would be traveling amongst a lowly group such as this. Not thinking, they both ran at Sydney with swords in hand ready to kill at any moment. Retrieving his ebony blade he dashed at the bandits with both weapons at the ready. Before the bandits could think of swinging their swords, Sydney had plunged both blades into the abdomens of the unrighteous men who now lay dead before him.

Sheathing both swords he approached the woman cowering against the rock wall for her life. Her eldest son bobbed his way to his mother still holding the infant in his small arms. A smile found its way across Sydney's face as he moved his lips to speak, "I'd say were roughly, 5 miles away from Lohan, and there's no way I'll be able to fix this carriage." The bandits had done a number on it making the broken wheel look like an easy fix. "Feel free to tag along with me if you want, but I'd suggest not bringing anything you won't need. Five miles may seem short, but it's the middle of the day, and all it's gonna' do is get hotter."

Turning his back toward the woman he approached the down caravan and found his brown satchel amongst the wreckage. Opening it he went through his things making sure nothing was tampered with. He sighed, "It's still here. Dipping into the satchel he withdrew a red stone that shined bright to his touch. A magical item given to him as a child he never could imagine parting ways with it. It was something that he was attached to almost as if it was tugging at the depths of his soul.

Without saying a word, he flipped the satchel over his shoulder and began to walk the direction the caravan was heading in. "Wait!" the woman yelled as she ran toward Sydney with the infant back in her arms, the elder son stood shyly beside her with his eyes facing the rocky desert surface. "Look, I never got a chance to thank you for what you've done. If I had anything to give you…"

Sydney laughed, "Now what kind of man would I be if I took somethin' from a single mother and her children." The woman smiled weakly, and Sydney continued, "But a few companions to talk to might help."

LODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLO

"I appreciate everything you've done! My sister lives in this city, so if there's anything we can ever do just let us know!" The mother yelled as she walked deeper into the merchant city of Lohan. Sydney looked at the sun, it was mid-afternoon, so nightfall would soon be approaching. He had a few gold pieces, enough to afford a few nights stay at the inn, including the cost for food and such. Tired, he made his way through the maze of rickety stairs and creaky wooden decks.

It didn't take him long to find the inn since it was the northernmost structure in the city. Lohan was all one large building consisting of three stories (including the ground floor). There were three wings, the east wing, west wing, and the northern wing, all having bridges connecting to either-or's opposite side. Simply enough he opened the door to the inn finding a seat in the crowded, dusty bar almost immediately.

Nearing the end of the day the tourists had all but left; leaving the crowd to consist of local single men and women who had finished working, and were looking to unwind. Used to travelers, many of the patrons decided to leave Sydney to himself, not wanting to cause any trouble after another hard day in the sun. A waitress approached the traveler, "Can I help…you…" her sentence trailed off.

Sydney looked up; her midnight-black hair drifting into bouncing curls, and gorgeous green eyes, it had to be her. She looked so unfamiliar in an apron and ragged servants' garments. Sydney gasped, "Elisea…"


	2. Chapter 2: The Snake and the Sun

**The Legend of Dragoon: Black Resurrection**

Chapter 2

"I never thought that I would see you again," Elisea said as her and Sydney stood outside the inn overlooking the city of Lohan. "It's been five years since that day, and I swore that I would never speak to you again, and yet, here I am." She leaned against the guardrail propping her head on her bent arms and staring blindly into the decreasing crowd of people as nightfall approached.

Sydney sighed, "Not one day has gone by that I don't remember the day that you left. I can't say that I'm sorry for what I've done, but I've tried to pay reparations for my sins one day at a time."

"So why did you come here?" Elisea asked in a vicious tone as she whipped to face her once best friend, "Is it to ask for my forgiveness? If so you're sadly mistaken."

Chuckling Sydney replied, "Shit, I could care less if you forgive me or not." He was lying of course, but he had no way of expressing his true emotion besides staying cool, calm, and collected. "Your father's dead Elisea, he never quit blaming me for being the reason why you ran away. He loathed me to his last breath."

"So you want me to feel sorry for you then."

"Feel sorry?" He asked as he leaned against the wooden wall. "Why feel sorry for a broken man, I killed one of our own out of pure anger. Not a day goes by that I don't regret killing him, an innocent man. I was already an outcast of our tribe, and it made me feel more exiled than I do now. So honestly, even if you did sympathize, I would tell you to shove it up your ass and leave me be."

"Then why don't you leave?"

"I can't, not until I fulfill a man's dying wish."

"Dying wish?" Elisea questioned shrilly.

"He wanted me to give you this note," Sydney opened his satchel and withdrew a letter addressed to Elisea in scribbled handwriting. "I never opened it and why he entrusted it to me, I have no idea."

Angry Elisea snatched away the envelope and opened it quickly. It had been five years since she had heard her father's voice, and she would never hear it again. This added more frustration to her conscience, more blame to the man that had destroyed everything to her. But yet, she strangely missed him, not a day had gone by she had thought of what he'd done above all else. "Why didn't you open it? You've had such a long journey, and probably a one in a billion chance of finding me."

"Because I never gave up on finding you, I knew eventually I would no matter how much it hurt. Plus, I think it was this stone," Sydney withdrew his red stone which shined brightly in his hand, brighter than anytime it had shined before. "It's seemed to've become one with my thoughts, and the closer I came to you, the more it reacted." Swiftly entering the inn once again, he left Elisea alone with her note, he knew she needed some time to herself, alone, with her father.

_To my daughter,_

_If you've received this, then Sydney was successful in his journey of finding you. To touch base, I know you're angry with Sydney for what he did to our tribe, just like I was, but nearing my death I've learned to forgive him of his crimes, for he has surely paid for them. I was troubled and angered that you left, and I blamed the child for many years of what he'd done, but now I realize that the past is the past, and the only thing to do is to move forward._

_When we bury our dead, we bury them, not continuously resurrect them with hope that they'll be the same as before. They're dead, nothing more, nothing less. But as I look back on it, I believe Sydney is truly innocent of the crime. I must've known from the beginning but was too foolish to realize the truth of what happened. His mannerisms, everything about him doesn't make him out to be a killer of his friends, I was just stubborn to the truth, and that alone destroyed him._

_I've heard him cry in his sleep, the nightmares of what happened truly plague his mind as a demon in disguise. The last time I spoke to you, it was done loudly and violently, you wanted revenge for what he did to the third of your party, and in your eyes, I refused to act on it. I'm sure you're as beautiful as your mother who died so long ago, and my dying wish consisted of two things, the delivery of this letter, and to see your face for one last time. Two polar opposites when you think about it, but I at least know that one of my wishes came true. But I must tell you this:_

_Remember the stones you and Sydney were given so long ago? I once heard a myth of a group of revolutionaries who carried those stones, and were known to unleash an unstoppable force amongst their foes. Once again another group came across them, and it was rumored that they alone destroyed "The Moon that Never Sets". It's been two-hundred years since then, and the world has continued to revolve, and expand as the races who were once enemies have combined to live in peace._

_In Serdio, there lies a ruin known as the Shrine of Shirley which was known to have housed the ghost of a past revolutionary who liberated the human race so long ago. Rumor has it that a wingly settlement has been built in order to protect what is sacred. I feel as if the destruction of time is upon us, and what you and Sydney hold may be keys to the salvation that'll deliver us from complete annihilation. I cannot die in peace knowing that something so destructive is upon us as species of this planet. I've heard the cries of the wind, and you and Sydney may be the ones to ride its tears to a brighter future._

_Forever my daughter, I will always love you,_

_Slaven Erna_

_DLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODL_

Sydney watched the hot sun as it rose over the horizon. Merchants had begun opening their shops to get an early start for the day, hoping to catch unexpected customers in their wake. Sipping a coffee, Sydney lit his morning cigarette, and exhaled it into the dry desert air. He had no idea what he was going to do since he did what the old man told him to do. Elisea still shared a deep loathing for him as her father did, and most likely would never want to speak to him ever again after last night.

As a nomad he was used to having nowhere to go, but for the first time in his life it stuck him like a knife. He was unwanted by his former tribesman, and even though he enjoyed his travels, nowhere was worth settling down to him. Taking another drag of his cigarette, all he knew how to do was walk and fight, he could barely even read. _But what is this stone?_ He questioned himself as he sat his coffee on the edge of the deck and withdrew his stone. Just the fact that it led him to Elisea was a feat on its own, almost as if there was a connection between the two.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Sydney pocketed the stone and picked back up his coffee. Ashing out his cigarette he twisted around to face Elisea. She looked drop-dead gorgeous in all black, her knee-high boots and her short-shorts showing off her well-defined legs. The jacket she wore extended passed her hips, sticking to her curves eventually cutting off behind her legs. All buttons were done along the torso, all except the top one showing off a small amount of her cleavage leaving any man asking for more. The sleeves of the jacket were cut off exposing her slender arms, her feminine hands were clothed with fingerless gloves. Around her neck dangled a small silver chain with a tiny medallion of a snake devouring the sun, the symbol of their tribe. She wore no make-up or any foundation for that matter, she didn't need it. Each of her earlobes were pierced with small, black, horn-tipped gauges. Her soft green eyes had become deadly. The long hair, once in bouncing curls, was braided in a single braid drifting to her chest. But what completed the package was her sheathed katana she had strapped to her back.

"Why would it matter to you? I've done my part and played the messenger boy," Sydney replied coldly lighting up another cigarette. He tossed the match off the edge of the railing and turned once again to face the ever-growing traffic of shoppers and merchants below. "And why are you dressed like that?

_So he didn't read the letter_ Elisea pondered. She wanted to take her sword and slice him in half with it, but with all her restraint she kept from doing so. "You know my father forgave you in the end."

"Sounds like the ramblings of an old man."

"Why did you do it?

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Sydney replied taking a drag of his cigarette, nervously drumming his fingers against the railing. "You never answered my question by the wa-"

"WHY DID YOU DO IT!" Elisea roared, loud enough for some to stop and stare for if only a moment. "In the note, he said you were innocent!" Tears began to stream from her eyes as the torment of her emotions toyed with her even further.

"So he knew then," Sydney chuckled exhaling another breath of smoke. "Then I have a question for you. What would you do if someone did something so horrible that the only way to preserve their vanity was to kill them and cover it up with a lie afterwards?"

"What do you mean?"

"Durgis was a traitor to the tribe, but he was our best friend. As much as I hated him for what he did, there was no way I could let the tribe know that he had died selling us out to a group of slavers." Tears began to form in his eyes, "So I killed him in cold blood along with the envoys the slavers had sent, and instead took the blame for his untimely death. Now I look back on it and I see why Chief Erna never killed me on the spot."

"All these years I never knew you had been carrying that weight," Elisea was shocked to finally understand the truth. Instead of feeling resentment toward Sydney, she felt it directed at herself. "He was my first love, why would he do something like that?"

_'Cause some are weaker than others _Sydney wanted to say. _Some believe the lies of men and would rather better themselves instead of those they claim to love. I don't know, I've spent the past 5 years thinking about it and I still haven't come up with an answer. _"I honestly don't know Ellie."

Ellie, she hadn't been called that in so long all it did was bring back painful memories, memories of her screaming at her father wanting Sydney's death for what he had done. One mistake (which wasn't even a mistake) caused her to leave, and lose almost everything. She took out her black stone which glowed brighter than it had ever glowed before, maybe it was because she was as close to Sydney as she had ever been. Her father mentioned that the stones were probably the ones of legend.

She wanted to speak and forgive him, to apologize for what she had done. But for the first time words couldn't leave her lips. She couldn't be mad at him for the sake of being mad at him, there was no reason. Placing her right hand on Sydney's back, she drew closer to him with tears in her eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry."


	3. Chapter 3: The Archangel of Haven

**The Legend of Dragoon: Black Resurrection**

Chapter 3

"His name is Haven your highness."

"Haven you say?" King Carlo II replied as he sat in the garden of "The Shana Home" in the bustling town of Seles.

"Sire, imagine how this would look politically," one of his green-cloaked advisors mentioned in a hushed tone.

Coolly, King Carlo II answered, "Yes Magistrate, but either way I'm still the king of Serdio, and I am sure my closest advisors and followers would understand that I need a successor for when I pass on."

"Your highness, I understand, but the people…"

"The people will what? Revolt? Protest?" Carlo interrupted brushing away his light brown hair which he had inherited from his ancestors. "Two-hundred years ago, a man of non-royal blood saved one of our past kings, and his name is revered as not only a hero, but a community, a city _named_ 'Lavitz'."

Carlo arose from the bench which he was seated, and strolled through the garden to a bush of red roses with the magistrate following closely behind. "Roland," Carlo kneeled to the ground and glanced at his magistrate, his closest advisor, "many consider the rose to be _only _a flower, but I think of it as a whole lot more than what it may seem. If anything, it is a true comparison to the structure of human life."

"All the normal eye can see is the rose and the beauty in which it embodies. But no one understands the intricate details of growing a flower such as this. Think of the soil as the working class of peasants that allow us to have the luxuries that we have today. Without the proper soil in the first place, the seeds of our past would have never had the opportunity to blossom into the beautiful roses that you and I see before us."

Carlo rose upright and motioned toward the beauty the garden had to offer. Not only were there roses, there were bright daisies accompanied by rather large daffodils and tulips. Warm sunflowers brought more life to the garden, and many cherry trees blossomed in a sea of pink rising slightly higher than the heads of the king and his advisor, Roland. Roland was sick of listening to Carlo's useless babble on the romantics of life, it would mean nothing in a world such as this.

The matron of the orphanage approached Carlo with an exhausted smile, "I don't mean to interrupt your highness," she curtsied with as much grace as she had to offer, "but are you still interested in adopting Master Haven?"

Carlo chuckled, "You may skip the pleasantries Madame Lavonte."

"Yes sir," Madame Lavonte replied blushing at the cheeks. "I hope I'm not speaking out of line here, but I wanna' offer my deepest condolences to you and the royal family your highness."

"How dare y-"

"Your condolences are much appreciated Madame Lavonte," Carlo interrupted, using his right hand to silence Roland. It was still a hurtful memory that Carlo begged heartily to forget. His loving wife had died 6 months prior during childbirth, and sadly, the infant was stillborn. Still grieving the death of his wife and firstborn child, he decided it was impossible for him to ever marry again, but yet the halls of Indels Castle remained too silent for his tastes, and it was time for a change.

So he began traveling to multiple orphanages all over the continent of Endiness, and to no avail, none seemed worthy of providing an heir to the throne of Serdio. Then he met Haven, an eight-year-old boy who was as compassionate as he was intelligent. Carlo had knew that he had found his future heir when the child up and told the King of Serdio to not step on the roses when most would shrug and continue with their daily business. His grades were above average, and though he was mostly skin and bones, Carlo knew for a fact that one day Haven would be able to protect the kingdom from both enemies foreign and domestic.

"May I have a conversation with my future son privately before I adopt him? I don't think him and I have had a _real_ conversation since we have met." Madame Lavonte curtsied once again and left the garden heading toward the wooden doors of the orphanage. Shortly she appeared with the dark-brown haired ragged of a boy by the name of Haven.

"Please leave us Roland, I will meet you back at the carriage soon," Carlo ordered. Roland bowed his way out of the garden, rolling his eyes disrespectfully once out of Carlo's sight. "Would you like to have a seat my child?"

"Are you here to adopt me sir?" Haven asked as he pierced a hole through Carlo's soul with his light hazel eyes. "I hate to be disrespectful, but I'd rather know now rather than getting my hopes up."

Carlo laughed heartily and rubbed the child's dark brown hair, "Straight and to the point, I like that in a young man. But I have a simple question young master, what is the most important part of this rose?"

Haven bit his finger and stared at the rose that Carlo was clearly pointing at. Haven sighed and answered, "What's more important is not the rose itself, but the nutrients and the water which allows it to grow in the first place your highness."

ODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLOD

Eighteen years later he was known as the greatest scythe-master in all of Endiness given the title "Archangel of Haven". King Carlo II believed that a great king needed to have a militaristic prowess about him which allowed him to not rule with an iron fist, but compassion for his fellow countrymen. The Knights of Lavitz were King Carlo II's greatest war asset, and had been for nearly 180 years. The city in which they originated was known as a stronghold back during the great Serdian War 200 years prior. King Albert named the once-known Fort Hoax "Lavitz" after his greatest knight, and closest friend.

Even though Lavitz had blossomed into a beautiful and diverse city, it still housed the training grounds of Serdio's most elite and prestigious knighthood. Many of the Serdian knights were recommended to train in Lavitz, but very few were selected as righteous candidates. At first Haven was frowned upon by his fellow brothers in arms for being royalty, but after seeing his skill, their qualms ceased to exist as if they had no right to complain in the first place. He had worked hard like every other man to get where he was, ten years of constant training and mental strain had seemed to have pulled off.

The green stone glistened in the sunlight as it dangled from Haven's neck, the royal heirloom given to every future Serdian king. Everytime he placed his hand on it, it would shine bright, adding more mysteries and question to what the stone actually was. Rising up from his solid mattress, he stepped over to his window overlooking the bustling city of Lavitz. The historical presence of the former Hoax remained untouched in the city's heart. Above that floated the wingly colony of Atmos, suspended as if untouched by the wind.

He found it strange how wingly and human culture could combine together. The magical prowess of the winglies allowed for numerous and enormous technological advances which in a way made humans seem inferior. Haven never considered the winglies a threat, but greatly understood how they dominated all other creatures a many millennia ago. Until 200 years ago they were believed by the human populace to be extinct. Suddenly they began integrating into human culture thanks to their ambassador, an old friend of King Albert's named Meru Agla.

Haven knew of three different classes of winglies: the honorable, modern, and radical. The honorable class were known to be friendly to other species, but remained in their own settlements, shut out from the rest of the world. The modern class integrated into mixed race society, and even added their magical knowledge to better the world around them. Lastly were the radical winglies, easily mistaken as the honorable class, but instead thrived on the ideals that they were superior to all living things, and deserved to rule like gods of the past.

His thoughts continued to wander as he left the elegantly carved, concreted barracks. They were different from the housing of normal soldiers and knights, instead each member of the Knighthood of Lavitz had their own accommodations', spacious rooms where they could have privacy (something he was never used to even during his childhood years). King Carlo II, Haven's adoptive father had come to the thriving city to overlook its' security, and the battle strategy against a rising revolutionary group located in the northern Serdio mountains.

Compared to the rest of the world, he was one man, walking in a crowd of nameless faces and shadowed facades. Intelligent he was, and his battle skills were considered artwork by many of his colleagues, but he never understood how one man could lead so many people. Decisions would be made, and with every decision there would always be disagreements and consequences. Haven never saw himself as a politician, at times he didn't consider himself a knight, a soldier even; instead he had no clue who or what he was. As a child he felt abandoned and lonesome, but was surprised when he was adopted by the King of Serdio.

LODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLODLO

Haven's leaf-green cloak, and long dark-brown hair waved in the cool breeze as he found himself walking into a shop of grand and magical decour. The various, mysterious objects gleamed off his steel plate mail stained with specks of green, and a large portrait of a lion roaring marking him as a Knight of Lavitz.

"Is there an issue with your scythe Haven?" a female wingly peeped from across the room. She stood from her seat behind the counter and gracefully walked over to Haven, her long platinum hair glistening in the neon lights of the magical items surrounding her. The clothes she wore were fine in every intricate detail, but yet subtle to her small frame, it was normal for many winglies to dress this way. Multiple jewels and trinkets alike dangled from her body, from the necklace draped around her neck and the piercings in her ears, to the multiple jeweled hairpins glistening amongst her platinum locks. Sometimes Haven found himself in this store for no reason at all.

"Siri," Haven breathed taking in the air of the beauty that surrounded this woman. He unstrapped the black pole on his back, and instantly a beam of green energy slowly emerged from the tip forming the shape of a blade. "I have to leave here soon my lady, but I always find myself in here."

Siri giggled, removed her jeweled hairpins, and pulled her hair into a ponytail, "Well, while you're in here, I might as well look at it and make some adjustments. I mean it is _my_ design." She snatched away Haven's scythe and slung it over her shoulder, "Just follow me back here, we can talk."

He followed her to the back of the store to the more unorganized back room. Siri set the device on her workbench, and turned to face the man who had followed her. Yellowish-orange eyes of this wingly intimidated and mystified him as they always had. Both sets of lips locked in a short embrace which felt like an eternity. She floated off the ground as her transparent wings escaped the confines of her clothing. Upon separating she slowly flitted back to her feet, her wings disappearing into thin air. Her cheek rested on his chest as her arms found their way around his neck. Cursed he was to find love from something of not his own species; he wrapped his arms around her hips and guided her to the floor.


	4. Chapter 4: Wings of Death so Silent

**The Legend of Dragoon: Dark Resurrection**

Chapter 4

Siri laid huddled against Haven, her head sleeping soundly on his bare chest. She looked peaceful as her nude bosom matched each breath, it took all his strength to keep from stroking her cheek. She was foreign to him, not necessarily because of the difference in species, but because no woman had ever made an impact on him like the woman whom he held at that moment. When he was with her he forgot about the fact that he was orphaned, that he was a knight, that he was royalty, that what they had wouldn't be accepted by most.

Human and wingly cultures had blended together to create a new type of society. Both sides were able to confront the other on their highly destructive natures and how they had affected those around them. But somehow a physical and open relationship between the two species was unheard of and often ended in tragedy. If the love which Haven and Siri shared was an abomination to most, then it must at least be a bridge for others.

With royalty came obligation, and it pained him how he could only choose his bride amongst nobles. Did the late King Albert truly love his wife, or did he only settle for what he could have? _There have been past kings who have married for political reasons; but were they truly happy? It has been said that a true king is cheerful when his people are cheerful._ Maybe he was thinking too much into it, maybe at the end of the day what mattered was being a good king. Maybe uniting too species which once waged the most epic war in the history of Endiness would in turn unite all.

Haven once again looked at Siri as he took a deep breath through his nostrils. She never once questioned his origin or his ties to the throne. For two years he had brought his scythe in for repairs and tune-ups and not once did they exchange words unless it included a monetary transaction. Then, it happened. He walked in to the shop and it was as if he was looking at her for the first time. In that moment, he wasn't gawking at her, or imagining her clothes slowly curling to the floor, no he stared in to her soul, and likewise she returned his gaze with her golden-orange eyes, drowning him almost. During the days he would train, at nights he would talk with her and make love until the next morning

At the end of the day, his love life was his love life. He would become a great King, great enough where people would have to look past his decisions regarding love. His adoptive father had told him throughout his life to always stay true to one self. Despite some of their rough patches, Haven respected both the king and the man, Carlo II. He wouldn't have to meet up with his father until the next morning. Taking another deep breath, he closed his eyes as sleep finally approached.

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Not very many nobles stayed within the confines of Fort Hoax, but preferred to stay in the noble district of the surrounding city of Lavitz. Carlo preferred to be close to his men while conducting business in the bustling city, even more so if his business was associated with the Knights of Lavitz. He preferred to be a King who stood amongst his troops, to level with them instead of operating from behind the scenes. He never let a man shed a single drop of blood unless he was willing to do so himself, nor did he let politics get in the way of training. His father had taught him that.

He tried not to get close to his son during these visits, occasionally they would speak, but Haven preferred distance since he didn't want his fellow peers to believe he was receiving any special treatment. Even if Carlo wanted to give his son any type of preferential treatment, Haven wouldn't have needed it, for he had watched his son train and heard directly from Commander Trist of his successes in the field. He feared for his only son's life, but all the same he understood the sacrifices each soldier made and how his son wanted to prove that he wasn't just royalty, for he was a man just like any of them. Ascending one of non-royal blood to the throne would add a new voice and perspective to Serdian politics. Most of his subjects had complaints about this, but Carlo didn't care, he was ready to take the risks.

Though Fort Hoax didn't have many accommodations for nobles, they had a room built strictly for the king. Carlo opposed this at first, but the officers in charge of the unit felt bad and urged him to let them do so. Realizing they were just trying to be friendly, he backed off and accepted his gift. _It does feel better to drink scotch within my own quarters, I was beginning to grow tired of giving the commoners' heart attacks with every turn._ He stood from the desk within his quarters and walked over to the liquor cabinet situated next to the window. Upon opening it, he fetched a crystal bottle with an amber liquid and a small glass. Hearing a knock at the door, he grabbed an extra glass, "Please, enter."

The wooden door of the well-ordained room opened revealing an older gentleman ten years Carlo's senior. His wrinkled and experienced face revealed gray eyes, matching the color of his unkempt hair. His shirt was of a fine white linen, with dark green pants bloused in brown boots made of fine leather. His cloak was the most recognizable, for it was a forest-green color with gold embroidering befitting of a noble. Kneeling before King Carlo II he spoke the words, "Good evening sire."

Carlo set the two glasses and the bottle of scotch-whiskey upon his desk located directly in front of the window. The king walked around his desk, "Magistrate. My friend. Roland. How are you this evening? May I pour you a drink?"

"I must be important to have a king pour me a drink," Roland joked while sitting in a chair facing the desk.

Carlo smiled, "Do not become too conceited my friend, we are still behind closed doors." He lifted the bottle with one hand and began pouring into the glasses. Once filled he set one cup in front of the magistrate before settling in his own desk chair.

Roland brought the drink to his lips. He coughed and gagged as the sheer smell overpowered his senses, "By the creator!"

A loud laugh echoed from Carlo, "I understand, this is a most exquisite brand of scotch."

"Where did you get it your highness?"

"Atmos."

"Atmos?"

"My main reason for my appearance in this city is due to the rebellion forming amongst the northern mountains. The second reason was to meet with the Governor of Atmos to establish good will." Carlo took another sip of his whiskey. Setting his glass on the desk he stood and faced the window, staring at the floating colony with his back toward Roland. "The former Governor of Atmos recently passed on after living for nearly one-thousand years. I was close to the former governor, so I believed now would be the opportune moment to meet his successor. He has much work ahead of him, he is young for a wingly but has an astonishing sense of politics…"

Roland was no longer listening, for he had alterior motives. The king had his back turned toward his subject, there wasn't security in sight besides the two guards stationed in the hallway. _It is now or never your highness._ Quickly and quietly as possible, Roland reached in to his trousers and withdrew a small glass bottle, small enough to fit inside his closed palm. Crushing the glass tip of it, he reached across the desk and poured its contents in to Carlo's glass. He withdrew his hand back into his pocket, _flawless_.

"…I am looking forward to learning more about Governor Visus," Carlo finished as he sat back in the chair at his desk.

"I must say your highness, I am looking forward to meeting him as well," Roland commented as he brought his glass back to his lips. "It appeases me of the leaps and bounds our two species have made in order to live in harmony."

"That is true my friend, I could not have said it better myself," Carlo said as he gripped his drink. He lifted the glass and brought it to his mouth the liquor in it nearly grazing his lips. Suddenly he withdrew it and stared at the man in front of him with a slightly puzzled look. "You know…"

_Dammit!_

"…this calls for a toast," Carlo finished while once again raising his glass. "To ourselves, our families, our comrades, and our country." Carlo finished his glass in one gulp as Roland continued to hold his up in the air.

Roland grinned and whispered quietly, "Now I shall toast to your death."

A look of shock spread across Carlo's features. He began to shake violently, seizing as his eyes rolled back in to his head. Blood in the form of tears bled from his eye sockets while his mouth foamed a scarlet hue as he toppled out of his chair. Roland needed to put on his five-star act, _the guards should be bursting in at any minute_. The magistrate knocked over his glass and tumbled over the bottle of what was left of the liquor as he rushed toward the king. He knelt before his lord and laid his hands upon him as he lifted his head and screamed for help.

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Haven's eyes shot open as he breathed as heavy as the air around him. Sweat poured from all angles as he sat upwards, staring at the wall across from Siri's bed. His palms were clammy, stinging his eyes as he brought them to his face. Insides churning, he felt as if he wanted to vomit.

Siri sat up and placed her arms around him, "What's wrong my love?"

"I don't know my lady, AHHH!" Haven screamed in pain as a searing fire burned in his skull. He closed his eyes and instantly found himself in the King's Quarters of Indels Castle. His father stood next to a roaring fireplace with his hand on the mantle above it looking as if he were counting the charring bricks within its hearth. Carlo turned with a look so grim it made him shiver in his bones.

Something was familiar about this, Haven had been to this room multiple times so it couldn't have been the environment. No, this was a memory, a memory so vivid it felt as if he was actually there. "My son," Carlo began, "I need you to have a seat."

Haven was too confused to sit down, to even think. "Yes father." What? He didn't say that. He looked around the room and saw himself, the boy from ten years ago. Why couldn't he remember? There was a knock on the door.

"You may enter," Carlo said as he leaned up against the traditional desk which served its purpose to every Serdian King since the formation of the kingdom thousands upon thousands of years ago. Confused, the Haven from the present walked to his father and tried to gain his attention by waving his hand in his face. Carlo didn't respond, he instead leaned against the desk, the Haven from the present couldn't be seen. What in the hell was this?

The door opened as a strange woman walked in the door. She looked young, almost as if she had just entered womanhood. Her platinum hair and her golden eyes gave her away, a wingly. But something was different about her, her presence was something to be awed, how could he not remember? She was ornately dressed like many other winglies, yet she was graceful with each step as she were at one time a dancer of sorts. Jewels ordained her ankles, her navel, her wrists, her ears, and her hair, but one jewel stood out amongst all, a palm-sized orb glimmering a silver-blue as it dangled from her elegant neck.

"Meruvinus Agla," Carlo spoke extending his arms.

The wingly embraced him, "It's been a long time Carlo, I haven't seen you since your family...I'm sorry." She looked over at the younger Haven, and her somber expression turned to a look of delight, "This must be Prince Haven." She kneeled before him and looked into his eyes, "You can call me Meru."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance Meru."

"You don't have to be so formal with me young prince," Meru joked as she stroked his cheek. The Haven from the present brought his hand up to his face, the same place where she had touched. This moment, this memory, he finally remembered what it was, it was the last testament of Carlo II, for he was...

"Lady Agla, you understand why I have called for your presence this evening," Carlo interrupted his eyes piercing into hers.

"Geez, a buzzkill like Albert," Meru sighed, she laughed and took a seat upon Carlo's bed, "Well let's get this over with then."

"As lively as ever Lady Agla," Carlo finished. He stared at the younger Haven and spoke once again, "You will not remember this unless I am no longer apart of this world." Carlo straightened up and once again stepped toward the fireplace. "Normally, I would encourage my subjects to speak, but in this case I must ask that you stay silent for the remainder of this conversation."

"Over 11,000 years ago, the winglies ruled over the skies while the humans and all of the other species were subjects to their enslavement. The winglies controlled the laws, the use of magic, who was born, even who died, therefore determining who had a place in the afterlife. After much suffering, an escaped slave by the name of Diaz appeared amongst the humans as an envoy of Soa, or so all believed. He spoke of the dragons and prophesized how humans were meant to rule them and how they could give them a means to destroy the winglies and their vast empire."

"Diaz found seven who could wield the powers of these dragons, the dragoons. Each walked a separate path, united together by both the goals of liberty and independence. A bloody war ensued between the two factions resulting in casualties of record numbers known as the Dragon Campaign. The ruler of the winglies, Melbu Frahma, felt it necessary to create his own trump card by dissecting the embryo of the legendary moon that never set, the so-called body of the fabled God of Destruction. He created creatures known as "virage" to annihilate the growing insurrection. Frahma also created two weapons meant directly for killing dragoons and dragons: the dragon buster, and the dragon block staff."

"The final battle was the most brutal of all. Five of the seven dragoons died in this battle: one disappeared after the war to pursue another goal, the other was petrified during a direct confrontation with Melbu Frahma, yet was presumed dead for the longest time. It is fabled that Syuveil, the Jade Dragoon, had a brother which formed this kingdom soon after the Dragon Campaign. After Syuveil's death, his dragoon spirit was lost for the longest time until reclaimed by Emperor Doel during the Serdian War nearly 200 years ago. Originally the spirit recognized Greham, a traitor to Bale who used his newfound power to murder his comrade, and later control the dragon "Feyrbrand" which was used as Sandora's trump card in the same war."

"The stone was claimed for Basil by Lavitz, dear friend of my ancestor King Albert. Sadly, Lavitz was killed by a conspirator behind the Serdian War whom wielded the dragon buster, a wingly named Lloyd. The spirit recognized Albert as its next owner, and from that point was given to every future king of Serdio. What led me to you my son, was not your intelligence, nor was it your strength, it was because of this…"

Carlo withdrew a palm sized orb a deep jade which shined brightly in his hand. "This is a secret only passed down from king, to king, no man, even my closest advisors know about this stone." Taking a breath he handed it to the younger Haven. The stone lost its shine for only a moment, then the warm green light embraced the future King of Serdio as if it had long awaited him. Meru clapped her hands briefly and reached for her own stone. Without removing it from her neck, she placed her palm on it causing it to shine a bright blue.

"What the legend failed to mention," Meru began, "was the fact the stones can recognize humans, winglies, giganto, anyone deserving enough to rule dragons. I was a part of the second generation of dragoons who appeared nearly 11,000 years later. We were the ones who chose to submit to one another while defying the so-called fate of the Virage Embryo, the God of Destruction. My people were dying, and I chose to reveal our existence to the world in order to save my species, through my journeys, I was able to successfully form an alliance with all of mankind."

"What will you do with your power?" Meru questioned, sounding completely different than the kind-hearted and gentle person she was earlier. "You are a defender of the creatures of the Divine Tree, you must embrace your fate."


	5. Chapter 5: As Insanity Looms High

**The Legend of Dragoon: Dark Resurrection**

Chapter 5

Nightfall had engulfed the commercial town of Lohan, Sydney had wanted to leave that morning, but was confused on where to go. He had to make up his mind soon unless he wanted to pay for another night. Sitting on the mattress, he leaned over with his face in his hands, his elbows digging into his knees as his satchel lay open on the ground. Snores echoed through the room, interrupting whatever thoughts he had. There wasn't a door to the bedroom since all who rented a bed stayed in the same area, so hearing footsteps as they approached him didn't seem stimulate a reaction.

"So where are you going now?" Elisea asked as she laid down her katana and seated herself on the empty bed across from him.

"Don't know," Sydney answered. _I truly don't. I can't go back to the tribe since I'm no longer welcome, and none of this is really familiar to me. _"While I was traveling here by caravan, we were ransacked by bandits. I'll probably work as a guard for a while to save up the funds, after that, I honestly have no idea."

Elisea laid her gloved hand on his shoulder, "I want to go with you."

Within an instant, Sydney had brushed it off. He shook his head and looked up at her, "No, I can't let you do that. I can protect others, but I can't protect you, there's too much pressure." _Plus, I don't deserve your company, and I don't need a ghost to haunt me with every step of my journey._

"Stop acting so pathetic," Elisea hissed, she could be sweet when she felt like it. "I'm a grown woman, I don't need you to protect me, I am capable of doing that myself." She wanted to say that she needed his help, that she was drawn to him, even after hating him for so long. She took a breath, "Father spoke of a wingly settlement located above a shrine in the mountains due east of this city. I believe they may have an answer regarding the stones we have."

Running a hand through his hair he began to dig through his bag. Withdrawing the glimmering red stone, it shined in his hand. "Did he say anything else?"

Elisea closed her eyes and thought back, back to her childhood:

_ "Please, please, come one, come all!" the man in the black vest and purple pants hollers, his mustache twitching with the prospect of entertaining a large crowd. He removes his awkward hat and places it neatly on the table to his left. The adults stand, the children sit on the dry desert ground as the sun bakes the surface. Each child stares in anticipation, wondering which story the traveling story-teller will speak of._

_ The man takes a swig out of a canteen and spits the liquid out after sloshing it around in his mouth. "This is a story of a fire which once scorched throughout the land." He takes a flaming rod once stuck in the ground, he sucks in air and blows causing the fire to spread through the arid air. The crowd gasps in shock, but applauds when the flame returns to normal. With all his strength, the man impales the rod into the ground and crouches for dramatic effect._

_ "11,000 years had passed since the ending of the dragon campaign. Winglies, dragons, and dragoons had passed in to legend, and later passed in to myth. Mankind resided and ruled over the lands which once belonged to their winged masters. The myths resurfaced with the appearances of a single dragon and multiple dragoons during the Serdian Civil War."_

_ "A wingly was behind the conflict which resulted in this war. He carried around spirits of dragoons, and an artifact to destroy them if necessary. His goal was to gather together the 3 divine moon objects which once formed the borders of the three main superpowers. 5 warriors gathered together in the warring country and fought for peace. Upon finding out the plot of this wingly, for he had pilfered the Moon Gem from the King of Serdio, the hero's ended the war and gained the powers of five dragoon spirits. A wild cat and mouse chase ensued with the wingly continuously one step ahead."_

_ "The five warriors from amongst Serdio, joined forces with two other fighters: the last breathing giganto, and a wingly wanting to bridge the gap between humans and other winglies. Swiftly they ended the regime of the bandits which ransacked Tiberoan lands, and eliminated the water dragon threat in Illisa Bay. But once again, the scheming wingly had stolen yet another divine moon object from the King of Tiberoa, the Moon Dagger. But the two new additions to the original five had discovered dragoon spirits themselves to completely form a team of all seven elemental spirits: fire, ice, earth, wind, lightning, light, and darkness."_

_ "The spirit of the dragon of light left its possessor and sought the ownership of one of Mille Seseau's Sacred Sisters; the original wielder of the stone was unstable in nature, and the spirit of the dragon of the element of light could no longer console her soul. The seven continued to track the scheming wingly within Mille Seseau, eventually encountering the King of Dragons, the almighty Divine Dragon. With the help of the winglies hidden in Mille Seseau's Evergreen Forest, the seven dragoons were able to obtain the staff made to weaken dragons. The Divine Dragon had been asleep for over 11,000 years, and was in turn convinced that the winglies were still masters over all of the other species, and was angered of the humans rule over all dragons. The seven dragoons were able to kill the Divine Dragon, but were unable to retrieve the spirit of which it possessed. The wingly not only stole the Spirit of the Divine Dragon, but took the opportunity to kidnap the Holy Mother of Mille Seseau, and in-turn was able to steal the Moon Mirror. But the wingly was unable to get away, the seven warriors cornered the creature and challenged him head on. In defeat, the wingly told the warriors of who controlled the puppet strings behind the wingly's actions."_

_ "The warriors ventured into ruins of Vellweb encountering ghosts of dragoons past, and a ghost long believed dead. The man behind the actions of the scheming wingly turned out to be the fallen hero of the dragon campaign and father of the present wielder of the dragoon spirit of fire; he was also the lover of the black monster also known as the devourer of the moon child and the dark dragoon. He explained of how the moon child (the carrier of the soul of the God of Destruction) was indeed alive, and how she had been traveling with the group for the entirety of the journey. For she was the dragoon of light from Serdio, and the love of the dragoon of fire. He abducted the newly discovered moon child, and killed the wingly which had served him."_

_ "Another race against time was forced upon the dragon knights. The fallen hero had destroyed the three divine moon objects and was in turn trying to terminate the signets which bound the body of the God of Destruction to the moon that never set. The dragoons tailed the fallen hero only to be met with more opposition eventually leading to the destruction of each signet. In the end, the dragoons cornered the fallen hero who had stolen the dragoon spirit of fire, and battled a fierce battle. When the smoke cleared, a creature appeared in spirit form from the unconscious fallen hero, for he was the wingly who once ruled all and controlled all during the dragon campaign. He had possessed the fallen hero to do his bidding. He removed the moon child from within the embryo of the moon that never set and quickly replaced her with himself. Upon doing this, he had become the infamous God of Destruction with the intention of once again bringing the world to its knees, therefore creating his own utopia."_

_ "Believed to be dead, the scheming wingly shocked the heroes by appearing in front of the newly formed God of Destruction. To no avail he battled the god. With his last breath, he imparted two gifts among the heroes who would soon do battle with the god: The dragon buster to be wielded by the black monster, and the Spirit of the Divine Dragon to be wielded by the once dragoon of the element of fire. A battle for the ages ensued within the fallen moon that never set. The newly formed divine dragoon had become too much for the god to handle, and with the sacrifice of the dark dragoon and the fallen hero who had reunited with the spirit of the dragon of fire," the story teller grabs a fist full of red ash and tosses it against the ground. The smoke clears, the man disappears, "the god dies, and all is saved."_

_ The crowd applauds, adult and child alike gasp in wonderment. The man doesn't reappear, the crowd disperses, all besides two children, a girl with deep green eyes and a boy with whitish-blonde hair. The storyteller appears from within his carriage with a box. He sees the boy and girl and asks them, "Did you enjoy the story."_

_ The boy and girl both nod. The storyteller drops the box on the ground and begins rummaging through its contents. He withdraws two small orbs, one black, one red. He hands the red to the girl, and the black to the boy, he says, "These are stones I have come across on my journeys, I no longer have a use for them so I would like to pass them down to you two."_

_ The children snatch the orbs, bow in thanks, and run off toward the rest of the small festival. While running, the girl asks, "Can I have the black one, I think it's prettier than the one I have now."_

_ The boy stops and nods. They exchange stones. Upon doing this, they shine within their hands leaving them breathless. They both pocket the stones after looking around, then begin to run once again toward the festival, both with heads full of questions._

Elisea's eyes opened up, staring once again at Sydney. She answered, "Do you remember the day we received these stones, the day we were told that story?"

Sydney continued to stare at Elisea, "Yeah. What about it?"

"My father believes," Elisea took a deep breath, "that these stones are _the_ stones from the story." She was finding it hard to believe herself, but the more she thought about it, the more the facts pieced themselves together like a complex jigsaw puzzle.

"Maybe…" Sydney thought out loud. Noticing Elisea was listening, he continued, "I don't know, but it's the only thing that seems to make sense. For the longest time I believed this was just some wingly magic, but if this is what you say it is…?" Sydney shook his head, "I honestly have no idea if I'm deserving of something like this."

Elisea didn't want to argue, for she felt the same way. The last ones who ruled dragons were able to destroy a god, to save the world. "I need to know more Syd. Our best bet is to ask the winglies."

"We can't ask here of course, exposing a secret like this could cause nothin' but trouble," Sydney replied, once again scratching his head. "This settlement you mentioned earlier; do you know anything about it?"

Elisea closed her eyes, she heard many things as a waitress in Lohan, "Like my father mentioned in the letter, there's a settlement built on top of what was once a shrine. Wingly travelers stop by this place often, mentioning how some well-respected oracle is in charge of the entire settlement. They don't have any prejudices against humans since they don't want winglies from other settlements to enter either. Apparently they only want to protect their lore, their magic, and the holiness of the shrine their village is built on."

"Let's say we find out," Sydney began, "what will we do then?"

"I don't know," Elisea answered feeling defeated.

"Well shit," Sydney replied standing up, he twisted to the right and held his stretch, "what's the worst that could happen?" He let go, shrugged his shoulders, and reached for his jacket lying on the mattress, slinging it over his shoulders, his swords remaining sheathed, "It's a better idea than taking them to one of these vendors, they'd lie to the creator if it meant getting a good deal." He extended both arms through the sleeves of his jacket, cinched his satchel, and began to walk through the walkway.

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The bartender and owner of the inn in Lohan sat behind the bar polishing one of his unused mugs. It was nearing closing time and not much work needed to be done, for this day in particular had been one of their slow days. Though it was a cut in his pocket, he was able to appreciate the fact that it wasn't as busy, one of his waitresses had up and quit on him as soon as that blond haired guest had arrived.

He wasn't angry in the least bit, there was never a shortage of employees since Lohan was the commercial center for all of Serdio. But this waitress needed the job, she barely scraped enough together to get by. Setting the mug on the bar, the bartender stretched upwards, popping his back in the process. The door to the inn opened as his arms dropped to his sides. Three men and one woman strolled in. All were clothed in beat-up leather armor, the men were equipped with swords dangling from their hips. The woman had a quiver of bolts strapped to her back, and a handheld crossbow clutched tightly in her right hand. They were covered in dirt and grime, as if they hadn't bathed in weeks, and each had a green rag tied around their left arm.

_Bandits!?_

The bartender went to fetch the crossbow he had stashed underneath his bar, but before he could move a finger, the female bandit had already notched a bolt and shoved her crossbow between his eyes. "I wouldn't be too hasty now," she taunted, flashing a yellow-toothed grin. "The Knights of Feyrbrand have a bone to pick with one of your patrons. Now unless you wanna' die, I'd suggest that you shut the fuck up and get us some beers while we find this blond-headed bastard."

_Blonde-headed? _He grabbed three more mugs off the shelf behind him, the female bandit's crossbow still aimed at his skull. Calmly filling each mug, he couldn't help but think how that patron associated with his waitress may have done something to piss off the bandits. He shook his head, _I can't jump to conclusions. _Warm liquid running onto his hand shook him from his thoughts; frustrated he pushed up on the lever of the tap dispenser and flicked the beer off his hands.

"What the hell is taking so long!?" one of the male bandits yelled.

Startled, the female bandit jumped, letting loose the bolt she had notched in her crossbow. A thump resounded through the bar as the bartender's body crashed to the floor.

Another bandit ran at the bar and hurdled over it, approaching the body of the man who was just slain. The man was in the process of dying, the bolt had punctured his left eye socket now streaming a mixture of red and grey. Incessantly his right eye twitched and his quick breaths were laboring to his heart's final beats. "Damn bitch, you wasn't supposed to waste em'."

Notching another bolt, the female bandit hopped the bar, aiming the crossbow at the back of her colleague's head, "What'd you call me?" Before he could answer, she let loose another bolt, puncturing the male bandit's neck. He gasped for breath as he fumbled for the object obstructing his throat. The other two tried to react, but were once again met with the female bandit's crossbow. Fearing their lives, they backed off, hands up in the air in hopes to cease the friendly fire. Piercing their eyes with her glare she hollered, "Any you have anything to say to me can FUCKING DIE!"

She clutched a mug of beer and guzzled down the amber fluid, the two men still dying at her feet. Withdrawing the mug from her lips, she slammed the glass on the bar and spoke loudly, "This inn has a single room where all the beds are, this blond-headed bastard is most likely up in that room." She brought the mug back up to her lips and sucked down the rest of its contents. "Kill anyone who gets in our way."

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The sound of a loud thump halted Sydney's footsteps just shy of exiting the room. Quickly, he reacted in silence by stepping out of the door-less frame, planting his back against the wall. Elisea heard the commotion as well causing her to react the same. She planted her back against the wall opposite of Sydney, readying herself by clutching her sheathed katana within her right hand. Placing her hand on the netted grip of her weapon, she began to breathe calmly with all she could muster. Sydney slowly unsheathed both his swords, crossing his arms in the shape of an "X"

Elisea slowly edged against the wall away from the door frame, each step matching each breath. The room had grown quiet, so quiet that it drowned out the noise of the snores which once resounded through the space. Sydney could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. The hair had raised on the back of his neck, his chest was tingling with each breath, each joint felt loose but tight like a well-oiled spring. The air was light as if he could jump and float away. Each movement was measured, the deep breaths of the sleeping patrons, the fly which buzzed around the lit candle next to his bed, Elisea's fingers as she drummed them against the hilt of her blade.

There were no longer any voices, just footsteps clattering up the staircase and down the hallway leading to the room. He counted the steps of what sounded like three people. Looking over at Elisea, he tapped on the wood just barely enough for it to reach her ears. She returned his gaze. Right hand still gripping one of his swords he raised two then three fingers as if asking how many there were.

Elisea lifted her head to peek around the corner of the doorway, she stared for a moment, then returned to her position. She nudged her head toward the hand gripping the hilt of her katana, and lifted three fingers. Sydney nodded the footsteps halting just shy of the room.

He heard a whisper belonging to a female, "Remember, kill anyone who gets in our way. This blond-headed bastard dies tonight!" They stumbled through the doorway, Sydney and Elisea both refusing to move, they had the surprise at their advantage. All three were clothed in grimy leather armor which smelled like a horse's stable, the two males were armed with swords, the one female was armed with a handheld crossbow with a bolt notched and pulled back at the ready. All three had their backs turned to the two people still planted against the wall.

It had to happen, Sydney stealthily lunged at the two males. He spun to where he was back to back with his targets landing in the center between the two. Without hesitation, each sword impaled each man, their dying screams alerting the female and waking up all of the sleeping patrons. The female with the crossbow tried to react, but was met with a bright gleam of steel escaping the confines of its sheath slicing her chest open like butter.

Elisea held her position gripping a bloodstained katana in one hand, and the sheath in the other. The female with the crossbow stood for a moment as if frozen in time. Firstly she coughed up gore as if sputtering for breath, her chest then sprayed blood like a fountain soaking the floor and one of the walls. Gorgeous face covered in her enemy's gore, she stood fully erect, flicking the blood off her weapon and sheathing it. The dying woman's eyes rolled into the back of her head as her body crashed to the floor. A gasp from the patrons resounded through the room, sickened by the sight in front of them. Some screamed in fear as others vomited in disgust.

Still back to back with his enemies, Sydney withdrew his weapons out of their carcasses, casually stepping away. He flicked his swords clean and sheathed them as the once sleeping patrons ran screaming out of the room. Turning to face Elisea, he was met with the gaze of a blood-stained beauty so emotionless it was as if he were staring in to the eyes of a demon. To him, killing never felt enjoyable, it was necessary for survival; it was one thing to do it to preserve one's life, but another to be blessed with the curse of being good at it. Like him, Elisea had to enter that pit of refuse while simultaneously risking her sanity. In one way, they were surrounded by nostalgic thoughts of days where it was normal to be ignorant. But upon meeting each other's gaze, they had realized how much one another had changed.


End file.
